


Dreamers

by avellere



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avellere/pseuds/avellere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He saw him every morning when he ordered coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamers

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt below, taken from [whateverfest](http://community.livejournal.com/_quaintnotion/867110.html).

He saw him every morning when he ordered coffee. Black, the cheapest kind they had, known from months working at the café and glancing at the menu. The man didn’t seem to care though. He only sipped the bitter brew, sat at a table in the corner, and opened his notebook. The scratching of the pen blended with the rustle of aprons and coffee beans being ground, and he would’ve gone unnoticed except for his appearance. The mismatched clothes he wore, the ink stains on his fingers, the striking color of his hair—Everything about him made Reita turn his head. After hours had passed and people trickled in and out he didn’t move, muttering under his breath and frowning every so often. Only when it was late and the place was nearly empty did he finally rise, toss his cup into the trash and exit, the bell ringing after him.

It was a habit, something he noticed while running in late for his nine a.m. shift. He became used to seeing him, head lowered and pen in hand. Its clicking would drift into his ears as he wiped tables and swept the floor, gathering dirt and spills. Behind the counter, he studied him out of the corner of his eye, a colorful stain against the dull background. The sight stayed with him long after he was gone, as his hands flipped switches and poured drinks.

The man was different. No businessman would wear such poorly-made attire, and he wasn’t like those who stopped by to get their daily dose of caffeine. Someone with a twelve-hour job wouldn’t spend time at a café. And he definitely wouldn’t scribble words in a notebook. His pace was calm, his steps were slow, and his manners were careful. The college students that visited weren’t that laid-back. If anything, they were stressed out more than ever from staying up all night and cramming for tests.

He wasn’t sure. And as days passed, the thought stayed in the back of his mind, a puzzle that couldn’t be solved.

It was after weeks of wondering that Reita got his answer. The man had come in earlier than usual, looking for something to eat. At this time, the place was quiet; customers were scattered around and there wasn’t a line yet. Uruha had gone into the back room to fill the coffee machine, leaving him to take down chairs and clean. With a sigh, he grabbed a rag and moved between the tables.

As always, his eyes strayed to him sitting in the corner. His head was bent, strands of bright purple brushing his shoulders. His tongue stuck to one side as he scanned the page in front of him, crossing out sentences and murmuring to himself. To his left sat a cup of coffee and a croissant, both untouched.

Same posture, same order, but Reita still didn’t understand. Nothing about him made sense—not the way he dressed himself or why he was here. Maybe it was early or he was tired, but he was fed up with guessing. The man drank coffee and sat there every day, writing god-knows-what in his notebook—the least he could do was respond to a few questions.

He straightened and headed towards him. The male looked up, raising an eyebrow at the worker across his table.

“What are you?” He blurted out, crossing his arms. The rag was cold on his skin, and he could hear Kai not-so-subtly telling him to get back to work and stop harassing the customers, but ignored him.

The man blinked, a faint smile tugging on his lips. Silence stretched between them, and Reita shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t meant to state his thoughts so directly (or talk to him at all for that matter), but the damage had been done. All he could do was stand there and wait for the explosion.

But no such thing occurred. Instead of yelling at him, his voice was low as he replied, echoing in his ears.

“I’m a dreamer.”


End file.
